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She
found
Gerald
Starnes
in
the
ward
of
a
flophouse
.
He
lay
half
twisted
on
a
cot
.
His
hair
was
still
black
,
but
the
white
stubble
of
his
chin
was
like
a
mist
of
dead
weeds
over
a
vacant
face
.
He
was
soggy
drunk
.
A
pointless
chuckle
kept
breaking
his
voice
when
he
spoke
,
the
sound
of
a
static
,
unfocused
malevolence
,
"
It
went
bust
,
the
great
factory
.
That
’
s
what
happened
to
it
.
Just
went
up
and
bust
.
Does
that
bother
you
,
madam
?
The
factory
was
rotten
.
Everybody
is
rotten
.
I
’
m
supposed
to
beg
somebody
’
s
pardon
,
but
I
won
’
t
.
I
don
’
t
give
a
damn
.
People
get
fits
trying
to
keep
up
the
show
,
when
it
’
s
all
rot
,
black
rot
,
the
automobiles
,
the
buildings
and
the
souls
,
and
it
doesn
’
t
make
any
difference
,
one
way
or
another
.
You
should
’
ve
seen
the
kind
of
literati
who
turned
flip
-
flops
when
I
whistled
,
when
I
had
the
dough
.
The
professors
,
the
poets
,
the
intellectuals
,
the
world
-
savers
and
the
brother
-
lovers
.
Any
way
I
whistled
.
I
had
lots
of
fun
.
I
wanted
to
do
good
,
but
now
I
don
’
t
.
There
isn
’
t
any
good
.
Not
any
goddamn
good
in
the
whole
goddamn
universe
.
I
don
’
t
propose
to
take
a
bath
if
I
don
’
t
feel
like
it
,
and
that
’
s
that
.
If
you
want
to
know
anything
about
the
factory
,
ask
my
sister
.
My
sweet
sister
who
had
a
trust
fund
they
couldn
’
t
touch
,
so
she
got
out
of
it
safe
,
even
if
she
’
s
in
the
hamburger
class
now
,
not
the
filet
mignon
a
la
Sauce
Bearnaise
,
but
would
she
give
a
penny
of
it
to
her
brother
?
The
noble
plan
that
busted
was
her
idea
as
much
as
mine
,
but
will
she
give
me
a
penny
?
Hah
!
Go
take
a
look
at
the
duchess
,
take
a
look
.
What
do
I
care
about
the
factory
?
It
was
just
a
pile
of
greasy
machinery
.
I
’
ll
sell
you
all
my
rights
,
claims
and
title
to
it
—
for
a
drink
.
I
’
m
the
last
of
the
Starnes
name
.
It
used
to
be
a
great
name
—
Starnes
.
I
’
ll
sell
it
to
you
.
You
think
I
’
m
a
stinking
bum
,
but
that
goes
for
all
the
rest
of
them
and
for
rich
ladies
like
you
,
too
.
I
wanted
to
do
good
for
humanity
.
Hah
!
I
wish
they
’
d
all
boil
in
oil
.
Be
lots
of
fun
.
I
wish
they
’
d
choke
.
What
does
it
matter
?
What
does
anything
matter
?
"
On
the
next
cot
,
a
white
-
haired
,
shriveled
little
tramp
turned
in
his
sleep
,
moaning
;
a
nickel
clattered
to
the
floor
out
of
his
rags
.
Gerald
Starnes
picked
it
up
and
slipped
it
into
his
own
pocket
.
He
glanced
at
Dagny
.
The
creases
of
his
face
were
a
malignant
smile
.
"
Want
to
wake
him
up
and
start
trouble
?
"
he
asked
.
"
If
you
do
,
I
’
ll
say
that
you
’
re
lying
.
"
The
ill
-
smelling
bungalow
,
where
she
found
Ivy
Starnes
,
stood
on
the
edge
of
town
,
by
the
shore
of
the
Mississippi
.
Hanging
strands
of
moss
and
clots
of
waxy
foliage
made
the
thick
vegetation
look
as
if
it
were
drooling
;
the
too
many
draperies
,
hanging
in
the
stagnant
air
of
a
small
room
,
had
the
same
look
.
The
smell
came
from
undusted
corners
and
from
incense
burning
in
silver
jars
at
the
feet
of
contorted
Oriental
deities
.
Ivy
Starnes
sat
on
a
pillow
like
a
baggy
Buddha
.
Her
mouth
was
a
tight
little
crescent
,
the
petulant
mouth
of
a
child
demanding
adulation
—
on
the
spreading
,
pallid
face
of
a
woman
past
fifty
.
Her
eyes
were
two
lifeless
puddles
of
water
.
Her
voice
had
the
even
,
dripping
monotone
of
rain
:
"
I
can
’
t
answer
the
kind
of
questions
you
’
re
asking
,
my
girl
.
The
research
laboratory
?
The
engineers
?
Why
should
I
remember
anything
about
them
?
It
was
my
father
who
was
concerned
with
such
matters
,
not
I
.
My
father
was
an
evil
man
who
cared
for
nothing
but
business
.
He
had
no
time
for
love
,
only
for
money
.
My
brothers
and
I
lived
on
a
different
plane
.
Our
aim
was
not
to
produce
gadgets
,
but
to
do
good
.
We
brought
a
great
,
new
plan
into
the
factory
.
It
was
eleven
years
ago
.
We
were
defeated
by
the
greed
,
the
selfishness
and
the
base
,
animal
nature
of
men
.
It
was
the
eternal
conflict
between
spirit
and
matter
,
between
soul
and
body
.
They
would
not
renounce
their
bodies
,
which
was
all
we
asked
of
them
.
I
do
not
remember
any
of
those
men
.
I
do
not
care
to
remember
.
.
.
The
engineers
?
I
believe
it
was
they
who
started
the
hemophilia
.
.
.
Yes
,
that
is
what
I
said
:
the
hemophilia
—
the
slow
leak
—
the
loss
of
blood
that
cannot
be
stopped
.
They
ran
first
.
